


Weakness

by Jenwryn



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-26
Updated: 2008-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The names they exchange sound like the greetings left unspoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weakness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaviniaLavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaviniaLavender/gifts).



> Written as a gift for LaviniaLavender. Unbeta'd.

  
The mirror is tall - or ought one speak of height, where mirrors are involved? - almost the same in its vertical dimensions as the very wall upon which it is set. A grandfather clock mumbles somewhere in the distance, and evening is laying itself to sleep across the land, colouring fields and gardens into soft-edged shadows; soon it will be time to walk down the stairs and tolerate those official faces with their contrived smiles, time to play with clinking glasses and silver spoons, time to speak of things that do not matter whilst the central truths are dancingly avoided. As for the room in which the mirror stands, it is lit by a single lamp, which stains the panelling warmly. The deep honey of the timber compliments the pale honey of the woman's hair, and the fine gilt of gold at the edges of the mirror, and she turns once, twice, three times before it, finger and thumb adjusting her glasses, and her other palm smoothing out the white silk of her dress. Her teeth, catching and tugging at her bottom lip, are the only proof of her slight frustration.

"Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing," states a deep voice behind her and she turns, chewed lip smoothing itself into a cool, easy smile before she has even finished the slow spin.

"Alucard," she agrees, and the names they exchange sound like the greetings left unspoken.

The vampire is dressed his usual regalia. The woman traces him briefly with her eyes, bright and blue behind her glasses, which catch light and fracture it into silver as they reflect the yellow spilt in through the open door behind him.

She wants him to compliment her, to tell her she looks beautiful, but she already has a sharp jibe lined up just in case he does, because it's not his place to flatter her,_ even though it is._

Either way, he doesn't speak a word, just inclines his head and rakes his own gaze, much more slowly, all the way back up from her feet to her hair tumbles over her shoulders. His eyes say everything that his mouth does not. She cannot arm herself against those eyes, has never been able to, there is no weapon for her defence, and she's left melting inside, and loathing the weakness that it evidences.

His lips curl upwards, just a fraction, the second-cousin twice-removed of a smirk that flirts with danger.

So many things better left unspoken.

"My Master..?" he says, and offers her his arm. "The annual dinner awaits us."

Integra accepts wordlessly, sliding her own beneath his, and around, gloved fingers coming to rest delicately just above his wrist. Together they leave the room and tonight, just for tonight, she allows him to set the pace, moving herself in complement to his grace. And his eyes, his eyes are enough and too much, and she meets the night braced by the strength with which they lace her weakness.

 


End file.
